[A/N: Here we go folks, things start to get bumpy from here on in. Parts of this chapter are taken directly from Angel the Series, episode 53, written and directed by Tim Minear, because to do anything else would take away from the writing and the performances of the actors. All praise goes to Julie Benz, who took words given to her and transcended them, giving an absolutely sublime performance. The title is from the poem of the same name by Robert Louis Stevenson (ah yes, another Scot and another re-used source). And the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect and I don’t own anything.]
Previously: Dawn brought Casey to meet Buffy and Spike, who gave their okay about Homecoming; Darla’s in labor and feeling the weight of her past. This starts the afternoon of the dance. . .
Book 2, Chapter 4. Farewell, fair day and fading light
But what minutes!
Count them by sensation,
and not by calendars,
and each moment is a day.
Benjamin Disreali
You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by;
but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.
James Matthew Barrie
Spike was downstairs watching a repeat of an old Premier League update that was at least half a week old. It was the second time he’d watched it, but he would rather be doing what he was than dealing with the hen party upstairs.
They were making his Niblet into something else and he wasn’t so sure he liked the idea. It was only four in the afternoon, he couldn’t imagine what was going to take this long, the dance wasn’t until seven. No one needed three hours of prep time. Especially not someone as pretty as his girl.
He must have fallen asleep, because Premier League wasn’t on any more, some other inane program was on and the sun was already down. Glancing at the time on the television, Spike realized it was nearly time for the pup to arrive.
As if on some sort of cue, the doorbell rang. Running a hand over his face, Spike got up and answered the door. There he was, decked out in a penguin suit, flowers in hand.
“Lo.”
“Hello sir.”
Purposely not saying the words necessary for an invitation, in case the boy’s status had changed in three days, Spike just gestured him in.
Casey walked inside the door, clearly nervous. “My Dad’s outside waiting for us.” Then he made a face and admitted, “actually both my parents are here.”
This was such unfamiliar territory for Spike but he knew what was proper and what wasn’t. “Bring them in.”
Casey bounded out the door while Spike bellowed up the stairs. Tara’s voice floated down as Casey and his parents came to the door. They followed the boy in and Spike introduced himself as Will.
“Girls ‘ll be down in a minute.”
The father, Jim, declined the offer of a drink, but the boy’s mother, Loretta, accepted his offer of iced tea.
Retreating to the kitchen, leaving them alone in the living room, Spike took his time. The longer the girls took the more agitated he was becoming. Finally as he was done stalling, he heard footsteps on the stairs.
Glinda.
Breathing an unnecessary sigh of relief he wandered back into the living room with the mother’s drink. Introducing Tara only ate up a few moments, but by the time he was finished, Buffy was on her way down the stairs, Dawn a few steps behind her.
Glancing up at the stairs, Spike could see the strain on Buffy’s features though she tried to hide it. He could also smell the distress . . . and pain his girl was in.
“Buffy?”
She smiled at him, which was clearly taking an effort and mouthed “later” at him.
Motioning behind her, Buffy moved out of the way, revealing an all too grown up Dawn. Spike gulped.
“Niblet?” He almost didn’t believe his eyes.
She was nervously biting her lip, waiting for his reaction. Reaching out a hand to help her down the last steps, Spike whispered, “you’re beautiful, pet. All grown up.”
And she was.
Her hair was a mass of curls, lifted away from her face, which was made up perfectly. The curls cascading down her back were held up by jeweled clips artfully arranged around her temples. The dress was a high neck halter gown of deep wine red and she had a matching cashmere scarf draped around her shoulders. A tentative smile crossed her features at his words and she glanced at Buffy who smiled in answer.
The next few moments were a blur of flashbulbs and good natured laughter, all of which sped past him too quickly, and then the teenagers and parents were gone.
Buffy slumped against the wall while Tara sat on the stairs. Spike looked between the two, unsure what to do next. He watched in disbelief as Buffy crumpled to the floor, a soft sob breaking from her throat.
“Kitten?”
“That was so hard.” Looking up at him from her spot on the floor, Buffy gave into the tears she’d been fighting all day. “And I really don’t feel good.”
Crouching down in front of her, Spike reached out to pull her into his arms. “What’s wrong, sweets?”
“Cramps.” She sniffled once or twice, expecting him to get it. Unsure for a moment, Spike inhaled and immediately understood. “Aww, sweetheart, c’mere.”
Gathering her into his arms, Spike lifted her up from the floor. “C’mon goldielocks, into the shower with you.”
Tara moved away from the stairs, letting them pass. Watching the two of them, she called out, “I’m heading out, I’ll be home later.”
And they were alone.
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It was dark now, only the bright artificial lights illuminating the night sky. There was a steady breeze up here, but that was only because of the height of the building. Darla watched the night sky around her, hand cradling her huge belly, tears in her eyes. She felt him approach, his scent assaulting her over-sensitive nose.
He spoke without looking at her. “You always did love a view.”
She returned the favor, her eyes on the distant lights, the faint smell of car exhaust and palm trees wafting in the air around them. “Can you smell it? This world. This horrible world. Why would anyone want to bring a baby into it?”
He sighed a little bit, turning to look at her. “To make it better, maybe?”
Darla laughed ironically. “Or to destroy it finally.”
Angel got irritated with her, just as he’d been getting with everyone else, since word of the ‘prophecy’ had surfaced. He wasn’t so sure the prophecy even applied to this baby, so why was everyone else insisting it? “Why is it everyone insists on planning my son’s future before he’s even born?”
Moving away from him Darla tried to escape his presence, escape everything. This is not what she had thought would happen, never even dreamed it once, probably not even when she was human, all those long centuries ago. And recently? She’d had a few other things on her mind more pressing than babies and a future. “It doesn’t have a future. Not with me.”
“Angel I can’t have this baby.”
He was floored. It was a little late to be thinking those kind of thoughts. “What?”
“I can’t let it out. I . . just. . I can’t.” The tears she’d been fighting finally surfaced, pooling in her eyes. At his look, she continued, “I know. It wants out. I can feel it. It’s ready. It’s time. . but I just can’t let it. I can’t let it because. . . because. . “
Angel finally understood. Or at least thought he did. “You love it.”
Shaking her head in agreement, Darla fought the tears clogging her throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything as much as this life that’s inside of me.”
It was almost funny. If the situation had been any different, Darla admitting she loved their baby would have been funny. But it wasn’t. “You’ve never loved anything or anyone, Darla.”
“I never did, til now.” She brushed aside his somewhat nasty comment, knowing it was the truth, but no longer having the strength to fight about it. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You do what you have to do. You’ll have it and then . . . “ he was a loss for a further explanation. He knew what he wanted, what he hoped for, but he wasn’t sure at the moment that any of this was possible. It hardly seemed impossible either.
She snorted a little bit in disbelief at his naivety. “What, we’ll raise it? Be a happy family?”
“Why not?” His response almost made her laugh.
“Why not? Angel have you been paying attention? I’ve nothing to offer this child. Nothing. Nothing but an ugly death.” He was so blinded by the miracle that he wasn’t seeing anything in terms of reality. It was her job, her responsibility to point those things out. She had too, for the sake of this baby.
“No. What I do know is that you love this baby. Our baby. You’ve bonded with it. You’ve spent nine months carrying it, nourishing it . . . “
Darla laughed through her tears. “No. . . no. I haven’t been . . I haven’t given this baby a thing. I’m dead. I can’t nourish him. Its been nourishing me. These feelings. . . that I’m having, they’re not mine. They’re coming from it. . . “
Angel was willing to dispute that. He knew she had some feelings, he was sure of it. “No. You don’t know that.”
Shaking her head in disagreement, Darla said, “of course I know it. We both do. I don’t have a soul. It does. And the soul . . that soul is inside of me, but soon it won’t be and then. . .”
Her tears finally, completely broke, sliding down her face. Her voice sounded a soft sob and she looked so wretched and distraught there was nothing for it but to hold her. “I won’t be able to love it. I won’t even remember that I loved it. Won’t remember how to. . . and I want to remember. Oh god. Angel. I want to remember that I love this baby.”
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By the time he got her up the stairs and into the shower, Buffy had run the gamut of emotions, one second weepy, the next complaining and then finally back to weepy again, as she whispered against his skin, “sorry I’m psycho-Bufffy.”
He grinned, wondering what her reaction would be if he described some of Dru’s frequent less-than-lucid moments. She’d never apologize again for being psycho anything. “‘s all right love. No worries.”
Shouldering his way into the bathroom, Spike dropped her onto the vanity. “Gonna get you set up and you should be fine, okay?”
Turning woeful eyes up at him, she nodded yes, but he knew it wasn’t all right. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I dunno.” She sniffled into his shirt, her hands fisted in the soft cotton material. “Not sure. Just. . . sad.”
“Anythin’ in p’ticular?” He kissed the top of her head and turned away to see to the taps and get the water hot enough to make a difference for her. She was silent, content for a little bit to just watch him. He was so . . . he enjoyed this, Buffy realized. He liked being needed and taking care of someone.
“No” she huffed, realizing she sounded like a little girl. “Just not feeling so hot.”
Spike looked at her for a long minute, not saying anything. The shower sounded like comfortable rain in the background, the warm air curling around the two of them, reeling them in, increasing the intimacy between them.
“Want me to wash your back?” He wasn’t leering at her, but it was a near thing, she could tell by the tone of his voice.
Wrinkling her nose, Buffy said “eew Spike, I’m all . . . it’ll be messy and bloody and . . “
“Buffy. . . vampire here. Bloody and messy is fine. . . . more than fine.”
She looked down at her feet, trying to hide the blush that was staining her cheeks, but he could smell her, every last little thing about her, smell the shampoo she used this morning, the makeup and scents she’d used with Dawn, and under it all, the scent of her growing arousal mixed with the heady fragrance of her blood. Moving closer, his voice just a gravely murmur, Spike stood between her legs, his hands reaching out to caress her skin. His hands tugged on the loose ponytail, releasing her hair to float all around her, fingers massaging the back of her neck. All thoughts of tears were gone, dried up in the heat surrounding them, his touch driving away the momentary sadness. He engulfed her, sent her outside of herself, away from all fear and pain, no sadness, no regrets, the sorrow at being back here long gone in the face of his devotion and care and his touch. He grounded her, brought her back from the brink time and again, giving and giving, never once worrying about how much she had to give in return. He asked only for her nearness, her acceptance.
Buffy looked down at herself, seeing her bared breasts in his strong hands, calloused and scared, watching as he molded them, almost feather light touches raising gooseflesh everywhere. His mouth captured hers and she forgot to think, nearly forgot to breathe. Spike’s hands were still molding her breasts, his thumbs flicking across her nipples. Arching her back she broke the kiss to watch his hands on her. Wet kisses trailed from her lips down her neck, nipping gently on her skin. Her eyes never left his face, gazing at him as he wrapped his tongue around a hardened nipple. Blunt teeth bit down tugging at her gently.
Leaning further away, one hand gripping the edge of the vanity, Buffy was almost offering herself up for his mouth to taste. More kisses trailed downwards. At her waistband he moved sideways, nipping at her exposed flesh. Glancing up at her, Spike was surprised to see her eyes opened watching him. Mischief flickered in his and before Buffy could prevent him from going any further, Spike began nuzzling his way further down her body. His bites, even with her clothes between them, were electric.
Big hands pulled her forward so his face could nudge closer into her. “No . . Spike. . . “
Sliding his fingers down the back of her waistband, Spike bit hard at the apex of her thighs, sending a jolt of want straight through her. Whining his name softly, Buffy bucked her hips closer to him, wrapping her legs around his chest. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her to the edge of the vanity, his opened mouth bites trailing over her still clad mound.
“Spike . . . no . . . god. . . Spike.”
Her free hand fisted in his hair, holding him close and trying to push him away. This was so . . . “Spike.”
He was drunk, wanting nothing more than to drink her in, reeling from the scents surrounding them, the heat, her little gasps and whimpers of protestation and want, lost in the moment. “God . . . . kitten. . . please. . . let me. . . “
“Want you . . . all of you. . . please, love. . . “
Whispered deep pleadings rang in the air between them, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her butt. Her heels pressed into his back, belying her words of protest, urging him closer.
Tiny fingers pulled at his hair, holding him against her, her whimpers of pleasure overtaking her deeper protests. Pulling away from her, Spike nipped her knee, then moved her off the vanity. His head slumped against her belly, swimming in the scents covering her. His hands pushed down her loose pants, exposing her, giving him more skin to nuzzle.
She kicked off her shoes, her hands reaching for his shirt. Leaning into him, Buffy let her arms wrap around his now bare shoulders. Spike rocked back, lifting her clear of the pants pooled at her feet. His mouth captured hers and he let go of her when his back hit the floor, letting her hold herself up away from him.
Their hands tangled together as they both reached for his boots and jeans, desperate now to be skin to skin. A deep chuckle sounded in the air as they managed to get him half naked, but one boot stuck as the jeans slid down his hips.
Rolling Buffy off his chest, Spike sat up, practically ripping the laces open and violently kicking off his boot, sliding off the jeans in one swift movement. Leaning over her, Spike’s mouth captured a nipple, sliding his free hand down her torso. Wasting no time, his mouth followed its earlier path downward.
“Spike” but before he allowed her to stop him, he sucked her clit into his mouth, grinning as his name ended in a little shriek.
Buffy’s hips lifted, arching into his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair. “Oh . . god. . . Spike . . . don’t. . . stop. . . oh. .. “
She tasted like nothing he’d ever had before. Rich wine, smooth whiskey . . . virgin’s blood, nothing compared to the taste of her. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in, holding her open for his mouth. Tongue circling her clit, Spike groaned into her, feeling her muscles begin the dance signaling her climax.
Buffy was beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond anything but the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth on her. His tongue was circling around her core, lapping at her like cat, gathering all the moisture. Her shrieks nearly pierced his ears when his tongue finally penetrated her, the bathroom echoing with the sound of her voice, the mewling cries of release. She was shaking, writhing under his touch, her body his to play.
“Oh . . . oh. . gaaaah. . . Spiiiiike . . . “
Seeking something to hold onto, her hands scrabbled over the floor, over her own hips, squeezing his fingers, pulling on his hair. Nothing worked, she couldn’t gain purchase, couldn’t find anything solid to hold onto. His nose butted against her clit and she softly screamed his name. Using blunt teeth, Spike nibbled at her clit, sending her over. “Oh . . god. . . Spike. . Oh. . . oh god. . .”
She was still convulsing when he slid his erection into her pulsing warmth, pumping into her hard. “Love you . . . “ wet kisses rained over her face, “so fucking much. . . always.”
Her legs came up around his waist, her arms encircling his shoulders, holding him close.
“Spike . . . please. . . inside me. . . . please.”
Locking her ankles, Buffy held him in, allowing him only short shallow strokes that hit her clit every time. Her mouth tugged on his earlobe, her voice scarcely more than a ragged whisper, “please Spike. . . cum inside me. . . now. . . please.”
Pounding furiously now, Spike groaned, her pussy tightening around him, “love. . . Buffy. . . now. . . kitten. . . . . with me. . now.”
Her third orgasm slammed into her, seizing every muscle in her body, her fingernails leaving bloody marks on his shoulders, sending him over the edge. His balls tightened painfully and Spike exploded into her, his grunts filling her ears, her name on his lips like a prayer.
Slumping together in an exhausted tangle of legs and arms, they were both undone.
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Dawn was having the time of her life. Everything was perfect. The dance was okay, the music wasn’t too bad, Casey brought the right flowers, his parents didn’t stick around to watch them enter the gym, and best of all, Spike hadn’t wigged completely when she came down the stairs.
She had spent all the time while Buffy and Tara worked on her hair and makeup, silently pleading with the Gods of First Dates that Spike wouldn’t lose his mind and make her change her clothes when he got a look at her in the dress. Not that it was all that revealing. It had a low open back, but the collar was high and the bottom long, the side-slits weren’t up to her thighs, only cut to just above the knees, and she wasn’t made up like a hooker. Not that her sister and Tara would’ve done that to her anyway. But she’d still breathed a huge sigh of relief when Spike had said she was beautiful. And all grown up.
The look in his eyes had been awed and amazed at the changes the other two had made to her everyday look. She’d tried so hard to look sophisticated and not like a little girl, hoping that Spike would acknowledge it, at least a little bit. Thank you Gods, thank you. .. . thank you. Now let the rest of the night go just as well.
Looking over at her date, Dawn figured she had one thing in her favor, coz he was just the cutest boy she’d ever seen.
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